


so much softer now

by preromantics



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2010-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:51:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The night before the final show, Kris feels completely out of his own skin.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	so much softer now

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 05/24/09.

The night before the final show, Kris feels completely out of his own skin. He holds onto the glass of tea Adam poured earlier just to stop his hands from curling and uncurling restlessly.

He wants to sing, practice the minor chord progression he keeps fumbling over but it's late. The handlers keep telling him - them, both of them but Adam is so much better about it - to not talk. Not to strain his voice or throat.

In the kitchen there is a crash, porcelain shattering in it's loud way. The mansion is so overwhelmingly big and empty that it echoes through to the media room and makes Kris jump, spilling hot-enough-to-burn tea on his white shirt.

Both he and Adam curse at the same time, and Kris smiles before getting up to pad over to the kitchen. He scrunches up his nose at the sight of Adam on the floor picking up pieces of a cheap Chinette teacup, trying not to laugh.

After a few seconds of watching, Kris sinks to the floor to help and Adam leans back, resting against the lower cabinets.

"I freaked out," Adam laughs, gesturing expansively at the floor, "about the notes in the first verse of my second song and just." He shakes his head closing his eyes, brief.

Kris isn't sure what to say - he's freaking out too, and knows Adam has been a lot harder on himself lately, really pushing, but it's strange to see him sitting in the middle of their kitchen (Idol's kitchen) looking so. Not like Adam.

"We should go watch a movie before -- to relax," Kris says after a stretch of silence. His voice is a lot softer than usual, strange after being so in his head all afternoon. He toys with the tea stain soaking into his shirt, pressing it closer to his skin, cold and damp.

Adam grins, quick on an audible exhale of breath. "I don't think the sedatives they give elephants could help me relax right now, Allen, but yes, yeah, movies."

Kris leads them out of the kitchen, cracking his shoulders and arching back appreciatively when Adam presses knuckles in between his shoulder blades before squeezing at his shoulder and striding ahead.

Sometimes Kris feels like he's missing parts of Adam, of what Adam does. Like something important may have been said and he missed whatever it was. It's hard, too, this line of friendship they have where Kris keeps trying to figure out the boundaries of what he can and can not do.

One thing Kris knows is that being with Adam is easy, even under all of the show and self-induced stress, even with the public eye and their categorically noticeable differences in backgrounds. Being with him is great and despite the metaphorically tightrope Kris sometimes feels they are walking (presses of knuckles or feet on his lap, counting freckles while Adam lays quiet and shut out from the world) he is amazed at what they have.

It sounds stupid to put into words - Kris tried, foolishly writing late at night, trying to sort out the nagging feelings laying at the hollow of his throat and base of his spine. Sounds even worse out loud (something Kris hasn't tried.)

The point is really, tomorrow is The Night and even Adam has lost his footing. Kris just wants it to be over.

When they settle on the couch Kris makes the mistake of sitting down last. He spends a few awkward seconds judging the space between himself and Adam before curling into the armrest farther from Adam. Still, he can feel Adam's warmth radiating outward (always warm, soft) and as soon as he gets comfortable inch by inch, Adam swings his legs up and over Kris' lap with a small, daring smirk.

Kris rolls his eyes, grabbing for the remote. Adam laughs. Laughing is an easy thing between them and Kris joins, just quietly.

-

Adam texts through most of the movie, a pay per view British comedy that Kris struggles to follow. His thighs fall asleep under Adam's legs only a little while before he falls out of consciousness.

Adam shakes him awake during the credits, rolling slowly on mute in the background. Kris' legs are tingling and numb, and his face has creases from where the sleeves of his shirt dug in, deep valleys and ridges.

Adam's face is close and he's sitting back on his heels so that when Kris blinks down, focusing, Adam's thighs are stretched wide and disproportionate to his body.

"You look like it's time for bed," Adam says, just bordering on being one of his funny accents.

Kris blinks over at the LCD display clock on the DVD player. 9:04. "I'm an old man," he yawns. He twists a little, cracking his neck. He's always cracking things, feels so robotic and disjointed when Adam is around, fluidly moving with everything he does.

"Earth to Allen," Adam says, this time definitely in a funny accent, nasal-y and high. He flicks Kris' temple and Kris groans out a laugh, shoving at Adam's shoulder.

"I'm not tired," Kris tells him, trying to scoot out of range of Adam's hands.

Adam looks at him, disbelieving.

"I'm worried," Kris admits after a beat. He realizes before he finishes the sentence that sitting in the media room right now, with Adam, he's reluctant to go to bed not because of the looming threat of tomorrow but. Reluctant to leave Adam, to shorten the time they have together that's just them. Like all things concerning Adam it feels important somehow and Kris just can't figure out exactly why.

He switches tact, frowning. "I -- you're a really great. You've been a really great guy to me, Adam. Just."

Adam raises an eyebrow at him, still sitting close. "You sound like you're breaking up with me," he says, obviously holding back laughter but looking like he's waiting for something, too.

Kris swats at his neck and rolls his eyes. "I'm trying to say thanks for being my friend, and that it's weird that this is the end, and that I'm nervous." He rushes it out, follows with a long-suffering sigh.

Adam smiles at him, smaller than usual. "I know," he says, quiet.

They sit comfortably for a while until Kris realizes Adam is just sort of staring down at Kris' hands, where he's restlessly moving them. It takes a minute of Kris staring at his own hands for him to realize he's rubbing at the nail of his lone-painted thumb.

He stops self consciously and covers his right hand with his left. It's a weird habit he'd started only the past few days, rubbing at the slightly chipped paint until his fingers felt hot from the friction.  
Adam parts his hands slowly, tentatively. When Kris looks up at his face (finally - unsure of what line they are wavering on and which side will win) Adam looks almost. Reverent. Even a little amused.

"Is this why I have to keep re-painting it?" he asks, quiet.

Kris feels everything centering from the one point in his hand. It's so strange the bits of tension he chooses to tune into. All through his life he's been good at selectively ignoring things, especially when faced with the ones that keep him up at night. Wants and desires, even small things.

Adam is a different thing and beyond all the touches, the small things and the falling-asleep-together big things he's foremost been a solid rock of a friend.

The fact that Kris can look at him across a counter, watch him drink down hot tea and want? It's something that makes less sense than being in this competition in the first place.

"I want to know what you're thinking," Adam says.

Kris sees the metaphorical line, sees home and sees his guitar. He feels desire, feels impulsive and also trapped an small. It's.

Adam brings Kris' hand up, and Kris startles, looking up and catching Adam's eyes. Adam looks unsure but Kris looks right back at him, eyes probably a little wild.

Slowly, Adam pulls Kris' hand until it's level with his mouth (the white noise of the room is unbearable, pushing down on them) and he. Kris doesn't feel at first, but he can see - the soft press of Adam's lips to the nail of his thumb, eyes still watching his face. He feels it when Adam drags softly across, kissing along the skin up to the knuckle.

Kris exhales, curling his fingers around Adam's - a reflex. Adam looks caught, a little wild when their eyes catch again.

"Adam," he says, quiet.

"Kris," Adam returns, quiet, "Kris, I --"

His eyes are softer, now, vulnerability creeping along the edges of his pupils and Kris feels it, the tension reaching it's peak and just. Snapping. Everything, the finale and feeling of being ready, so ready this entire time all coming together at once and.

Kris pulls Adam forward from where he has his fingers curled tight around his hand. The first press of their lips is shocking, painful almost from the momentum carrying Adam forward. Kris pushes, feels everything radiating from his bones, want and need and he's still clutching Adam's hand, acutely aware of it and the folds and ridges of Adam's lips.

Adam pulls back first, and Kris licks along his own lips, chasing something, the taste.

"Kris," Adam says, again, tightening the grip on his hand, "what are you doing?"

Kris struggles to find the right words, to calm his pulse down. "Its just us," he starts, shakily, "I don't -- want this to end and to have lost my chance to, do something."

Adam shakes his head, "Do what?" he presses. His breathing is un-even but only slightly. The amount of time Kris spends paying attention to Adam is so much that he can notice things like that, the pattern of his breathing, the slouch of his shoulders.

Kris breathes out through his nose and stares at Adam's thighs. "It's our last night," he says, slow and strangely stable, "and we're alone. I don't know what's in store for me or you or us but we are here, now. I want to forget about everything. I want to remember you."

It's a cop-out, almost. There is more than that, words that Kris doesn't know the meaning to. He feels almost foolish despite how simple it was to say that, how telling.

Adam is still and quiet for a minute, eyes closed when Kris peers up. "You'll regret this," he says finally, rocking back in one swift motion so he's sitting normally next to Kris, but still angled towards him.

Kris frowns, hunching. "No. Not with you."

He can feel how honest his voice is, the accents on the 'o's. Adam looks up at him and Kris leans forward again, shifting so he's leaning over Adam's lap. Adam reaches out, running a wide hand down the length of Kris' bare arm, watching as the hairs rise and Kris shivers.

"Adam," he breathes, almost questioning.

Adam squeezes up by his shoulders and they meet halfway, the press of lips less hurried and forceful this time, Adam taking time to press into Kris' mouth, a delicious wet slide of friction.

They end up laying back, Kris holding himself above Adam's torso and Adam pulling him down with a hand sliding through the short, soft hairs on the back of his head.

"You have to tell me what you want, Kris," Adam says in a small break. Kris grips at his shirt, presses his hips down, rolling, and Adam moans low, snapping his own hips back up.

"Want you," Kris says simply.

Kris struggles out of his shirt first, the wet of the tea-stained cotton shirt feeling warm and damp as it is removed. Adam makes quick work of his own, and the following press of skin against skin makes Kris breathless.

Adam flips them over, a smooth motion that reminds Kris through his brain-fog of Adam's effortless grace. Kris looks up at him, grinning quick before Adam latches onto his neck, fanning a hand down his chest to the edge of his sweats, the heel of Adam's palm barely pressing against the head of his dick through the material.

"Yeah?" Adam asks, devilish. Kris can see bits of his goofy personality mixing with the performance side. The look in his eyes is exciting.

"Yeah," Kris breathes, lifting his hips so the pants slip off better. Adam shimmies down the couch, staying low to Kris' body and the brief contact of his chest on Kris' dick makes him arch a little, a noise building low in his throat.

Adam barely wraps a fist around before his mouth is there, too, lips soft around the head and tongue relentless. He bobs up and off, catching Kris' eyes, tonguing softly at his slit, hovering.

Kris' head snaps back, hard against the arm rest. Adam's name is the only thing he can manage to say, low and scratchy.

Adam's fingers skirt down his thighs, playing over his balls and cupping, Kris bucking up and deeper down Adam's throat, Adam laughing closed-mouthed, so good.

Kris bites his lip when Adam goes lower, just brushing around his rim with a slightly damp fingertip. He pauses and bobs his head up and off Kris' dick, and Kris groans.

"Do you -" Adam starts, voice octaves lower, grating right at the back of Adam's spine.

"Yes, please," Kris grits out, cutting over Adam. He looks down at Adam, who grins at him quick and almost disbelieving.

"Give me a minute," Adam says, hopping up and off of the couch.

Kris stretches out in his absence, bending one leg at the knee and spreading a little, adrenaline pumping through his veins faster than show nights. He reaches down, wrapping a loose fist around his own cock and pumping, toes curling with the simple pleasure.

Adam startles him with a small, reverent curse from across the room and Kris returns with one of his own. In the short moment he'd gone, Adam had managed to rid himself of the rest of this clothing, striding unabashedly naked back to the couch, taking Kris' breath away in anticipation and maybe a little more.

"Okay," Adam says, soft when he's managed to settle back down between Kris' legs. He spreads them with a hand pressing against the inside of Kris' thigh, burning warmth.

Kris watches him as much as he can, his own hand still loosely curled around his dick. He takes his other hand and reaches to brush Adam's bangs back in a simple, lingering sleep.

In a sudden motion, Adam pulls Kris' legs up further and ducks down, licking first along the heavy line of his balls and then back behind, using his hands to spread the cheeks of his ass.

"Adam," Kris starts, tensing his calves.

"Shh," Adam responds, cutting him off. He licks around, first, before dipping his tongue into the tight ring of Kris' ass, causing Kris to buck forward, moaning. He keeps doing it, flat, broad strokes of his tongue and then gliding ones around until Kris can't do anything but grip the sides of the couch and shake, desperate.

Adam adds a cool, slick lubed finger first, drawing back his head and humming. Kris is ready, so ready, he pushes right back and accepts Adam's second finger as soon as he offers it. The burn is only slight, already worked loose from Adam's tongue, and Adam dips back down to lick in between his two, then three fingers, slick and hot inside.

"Fuck, Adam," Kris breaths around a groan. Adam pulls back, groaning himself, pupils blown when he meets Kris' equally so ones. Kris leans up on shakey legs, pushing Adam down the other aide of the couch the best he can.

Adam's skin is soft and he immediately spreads when Kris lowers himself between his legs. His thighs are taught and strained, smooth, and Kris runs his hands down them before moving to curl one around the base of his dick.

There is precome settled at the tip, Adam's whole cock flushed dark and Kris groans, so far gone, leaning down and clenching his own as when he takes the head into his mouth. It's bitter and Kris is more clumsy than Adam, but Adam arches back all the same, spreading a hand out over Kris' head, just pressing and scratching his nails lightly through it in a way that races down Kris' spine.

Adam pushes on Kris' shoulder all to quickly, looking wild again when he spreads himself out over Kris.

"Going to fuck you, now," he says, a low matter-of-fact growl.

Kris closes his eyes, steadying his body while Adam moves, willing himself to calm down a little bit more.

He barely feels the press at first, stimulated enough to just be numb with want, Adam's warmth radiating off of his body and into Kris' skin. He feels the stretch, though, the ache of having once been hollow and now being full. He lets out a soft noise as soon as Adam is all the way in, reaching around to scratch lightly at Adam's back.

Adam thrusts in shallowly at first, eyes narrowed into just small slits, breath coming out in pants more that Kris can even manage. Kris pushes into him, wrapping around even more, sweat gathering around where he can feel it, aware of everything - the material of the couch and the hairs sticking to the back of his neck.

Adam moves faster, harder, and Kris gets to the point where feeling everything is too much. He feels everything still, cresting as he meets Adam's eyes, wide again to mirror Kris' own. Adam snaps forward, coming, reaching hastily down for Kris' dick, pulling him all at once over the edge, body going taught in a silent gasp.

They lay like that, Adam slipping out as reality comes foggily back to them like a well worn dream.

Kris evens out his breathing, rubbing small circles into Adam's spine.

"Kris," Adam says, soft with exhaustion and something else, more.

Kris closes his eyes. Tomorrow is, will be a milestone. It feels like nothing, now. He presses up into Adam, curling around, skin against skin. "I know," he says.

 


End file.
